


What Strange Colors in the Void

by ObliObla



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crack, Gen, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: “It’s going to be alright.”A lie. Lucifer’s first, really.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 29
Kudos: 90
Collections: Filii Hircus: "My name is Lucifer Morningstar and I LOVE crack!"





	What Strange Colors in the Void

**Author's Note:**

  * For [matchstick_dolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/gifts).
  * Inspired by [All You Can Play](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22682032) by [matchstick_dolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/pseuds/matchstick_dolly). 



> For FH's Tellin' Stories Challenge: A time Lucifer caught someone in a lie.

“It’s going to be alright.”

A lie. Lucifer’s first, really. One told with all the solemnity he could muster—no quick correction, no laugh light with the glee of momentary deception. He did not prevaricate; he was no longer in denial. But as he looked out over these people he cared for, over this hard-won family he’d sacrificed so much for, a little lie didn’t seem like such a cost.

“It’s going to be alright,” he told Amenadiel, clapping him briefly on the shoulder.

“It’s going to be alright,” he told Linda, Charlie restless in sleep on her lap.

“It’s going to be alright,” he told Miss Lopez and Daniel. Ella did not step forward to hug him, and Daniel did not scoff, and that more than anything made him feel the weight of what he had to do.

“Lucifer, don’t do this,” Chloe said softly, so much like she had on the balcony. “Don’t go.”

“I must.” He folded her into his arms and let their lips meet briefly, savoring the sensation. “It’s going to be alright.” And she nodded, believing him.

He pulled away and made to turn, but a hand tugged at his, dragging him a few steps away. Beatrice had grown strong and tall the last few years, and she leaned up toward his ear, pitching her voice low so no one else could hear.

“It’s not, though, is it?” she asked, still with the blunt way of children

He frowned. “I don’t lie.” Another for the pile, he supposed.

She eyed him suspiciously but allowed him to pat her on the head. “Be well, child.”

She bit her lip and let him pass, yet his way was still not clear.

Mazikeen stood in front of the door, and he tilted his head, asking without asking. _Are you going to try to stop me?_

She appraised him, seeing through this lie as easily as through all of his denial. She glanced behind him, at this little family they’d somehow acquired, and raised an eyebrow.

“I _must,”_ he said again. He had no other words, had nothing more than the bare truth. He never had with her.

There was a beat, two, and they waited there on that knife’s edge. But then she nodded and stepped aside. As he passed her, their knuckles brushed together ever so slightly—less a formal vow than a desperate promise. To her, to all of them. To all those things he couldn’t say.

The metal of the steering wheel was cold under his hands as he drove, trying not to think about the warmth of the sun on his face, of the sharp scents of the city and the sea, of the clamorous choir of revving engines and car horns. He couldn’t think about any of it, not if he didn’t want to lose his nerve.

Hell was less frightening. At least there he had power, had allies, however untrustworthy. Where he was going now he’d be utterly alone. His wings made known their desire to manifest, so too did his devil face want to emerge—Linda might have called them defense mechanisms for terror—but he denied them both.

This he had to do not as angel or as Devil, but as simply fallen. A reluctant supplicant to a higher power even he couldn’t truly comprehend.

The location of his armageddon appeared strangely mundane. A strip mall, with cracked concrete and a thin but persistent layer of grime. It stank of petrol and stale vomit, but he pushed down his discomfort. He knew it could only get worse.

Even the sun barely seemed to shine on this place as he parked his car and emerged, wishing he could have borrowed one of Maze’s knives. He didn’t like feeling this exposed. His fine leather shoes protested as he picked his way across the broken asphalt to the door he had been seeking. This was not Hell, but still it whispered to him—desires and fears mingling in a heady mixture that repelled him as much as it drew him forward.

He had never been able to resist temptation.

He pressed the door open, stepping through into some kind of limbo, a fetid purgatory torn between light and darkness, neon and the void between the stars. It was quiet yet filled with anxious energy as he made his silent way past strange works he didn’t understand. And there he stepped up to the verge of the abyss, staring down into that cruel nothingness, that place he feared above all others...

The Chuck E. Cheese ball pit.

He _had_ lied. It was not, and was never going to be, _alright._


End file.
